


Quid Pro Quo

by thusspakekate (orphan_account)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blackmail, F/M, Infidelity, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 07:49:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/thusspakekate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So it's blackmail then?” he asked, licking his lips. She dropped her gaze, the corners of her lips twisting into a wicked smile. “Generally speaking, I prefer the term extortion.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quid Pro Quo

Harry watched the interrogation through the one-way mirror, the piece of parchment clenched in his fist growing damp with nervous sweat. Ron was relentless, firing question after rapid-fire question, but the witch in custody gave him nothing but one-word answers and disdainful eyerolls. Harry itched to burst through the door, to put an end to this before Ron stumbled upon the right line of questioning. Instead, he bit his lip and watched.  
  
He couldn't risk being so obvious.  
  
“You know what?” Ron asked finally, slinging his arm over the back of his metal chair and sighing. “I'm getting really tired of seeing you here.”  
  
Pansy Parkinson mirrored his sigh and pulled a slim pack of cigarettes from the pocket of her robes. “Not nearly as tired as I am of being dragged in here. I can't so much as sneeze without one of you feckless idiots picking me up. It's persecution.” She tapped a cigarette from the pack. “Got a light?”  
  
“You know you can't smoke in here. And we both know that you're doing a lot more than sneezing. It's not a coincidence that every time we make a bust, we find you somewhere near, skulking about.”  
  
She abandoned her cigarette in favor of examining her manicure. “I don't skulk. But I do have poor taste in friends, I'll admit that much. But just because I enjoy slumming it on occasion doesn't mean I'm some amped-up potions fiend.” She sat back in her chair and smiled sweetly. “Any minute now, Potter is going to walk in here with the results of the toxicology screen you've wasted precious ministry resources on. It'll say that I'm clean, just like it always does.”  
  
Taking this as his cue, Harry steeled his nerves. He knocked on the door and waited for Ron's gruff, “Enter.”  
  
“She's right,” he said with a sigh, tossing the results onto the table. “We've got to cut her loose.”  
  
“What?!” Ron cried, unrolling the parchment with a look of despair. “But she was high as a kite when we brought her in tonight! I thought for sure we finally had her.”  
  
Pansy's chair scraped against the floor as she stood. “Guess I'm just one of those lucky people who's naturally high on life.” She pushed the chair back under the table with her hip. “I'd say it was a pleasure to see you both again, but that would be a lie. I'll just show myself out, shall I?”  
  
Ron glared at the papers in his hand, a half-hearted grunt his only response. Pansy breezed past them, her high-heeled shoes clicking on the tile floor. She paused at the doorway. Looking over her shoulder, she caught Harry's eyes.  
  
Crimson painted lips formed the word, “Midnight.”  
  
***  
  
Harry arrived a little past twelve-thirty. He could have been on time, but didn't want to give her the satisfaction of thinking that she had him at her beck and call.  
  
He stood in the doorway, examining the state of the small, darkened flat that she kept secret from both her husband and her accountant. Harry had never seen her real home—he wasn't even sure where she actually lived—but he had a hard time imagining that the surfaces there would be strewn with empty wine bottles, half-eaten cartons of take-away, and overflowing ashtrays.  
  
“You're late,” she called from inside the darkness.  
  
“And you're high,” he answered as he stepped inside.  
  
A light turned on and reveal Pansy, sprawled along the length of the sofa, a crystal ashtray resting on her stomach and a burning cigarette between her fingers. She craned her neck so she could see him over the top of the arm, a smirk already twisting her lips.  
  
“Of course I am.” She took a long drag from her cigarette. “After the night I had? This whole being arrested thing is getting awfully tiresome.”  
  
Harry closed the door and shrugged off his jacket, tossing it over the back of an empty armchair. “You weren't formally charged with anything, just brought in for questioning.” He toed off his shoes as he crossed the room. “Besides, it's your own damn fault you keep getting picked up. You're being careless.”  
  
She smiled at him lazily as he came around to stand in front of her. “Why should I be careful?” she asked, lifting her leg to poke him with her toe. “I've got you.”  
  
Harry shook his head. “Tonight was the last time. I'm not going to cover for you anymore.”  
  
He didn't add that it was getting too risky; Ron was going to start asking questions soon. That much, he thought, went without saying.  
  
Carefully, she sat up and set the ashtray on the coffee table. She beckoned him closer with a crooked finger. “Now why would you do something silly like that?”  
  
Harry closed his eyes, not wanting to see the way the black silk of her dressing gown had slipped down, revealing one pale shoulder and the top of her breasts, pushed up and together by a lacy black bra.  
  
“That shit is going to kill you,” he said, voice unsteady as he felt her fumble with the buckle of his belt. He knew he should be trying to push her hands away. “If it doesn't land you in Azkaban first.”  
  
Pansy tipped her head back and laughed. “Azkaban? People like me don't go to prison. Come on, Potter, do you even know who my husband is?” She shook her head and pulled his belt free, chuckling to herself. “Azkaban. You really are too funny.”  
  
Her mocking laughter gave him the strength to shove her hands away.  
  
“No, I'm serious. I'm not going to help you anymore, not like this anyway. I can talk to some people, help you get into a program. Rehab, or something. You've got to come to terms with your addiction.”  
  
She rolled her eyes and slumped back against the sofa. “Oh please. I am not an addict. I'm a recreational user, an _enthusiast_  at best.” She motioned towards the coffee table, where a small pile of glittering fairy dust sat in the middle. “You should try it. Just one bump, Potter. It might make you less of a joyless hardarse.”  
  
“I'm not a—” he cut himself off with a sigh. There was no point in arguing over that particular point. “Look, I'm serious. I'm not going to bail you out next time you get brought in. It's over.”  
  
Pansy sat up quicker than he'd even seen her move, a momentary flash of anger alight in her eyes. She grabbed him by his belt loops, yanking him towards her.  
  
“No, it's not,” she whispered, voice dangerously low. “You even think about backing out on our deal, and I'll talk so fast they'll have your walking papers ready before I'm even done with my story. How many Ministry reports have you falsified in my name? How many times have you abused your authority in order to get me off?”  
  
She trailed her hand across the front of his trousers, stopping to palm his cock through the thin fabric, giving a squeeze that made Harry close his eyes and whimper. He shouldn't even be here, he thought miserably. He should be at home, curled up in bed next to Ginny, safe and quiet in their boring Muggle neighborhood. He should never have gotten involved in this, involved with  _her_.  
  
“Just imagine how it will play in the press when I tell them why. What do you think your wife will say when she finds out?” Pansy released her hold and sat back, dark eyes dangerous and alive. “If I go down, I'm taking you with me.”  
  
Harry could feel his heartbeat rising steadily, his breath becoming shallow. “So it's blackmail then?” he asked, licking his lips.  
  
She dropped her gaze, the corners of her lips twisting into a wicked smile. “Generally speaking, I prefer the term extortion. But even then, it's not that, is it? I'd say we have a mutually beneficial relationship.” She slid off the sofa, sinking to her knees at his feet in one fluid motion. “You get me off and I get you off. Quid pro quo.”   
  
It wasn't rational, how much he wanted her in that moment, how easily her throaty voice and heavy-lidded eyes aroused him. He knew this was dangerous, that  _she_  was dangerous. If anyone ever found out, it would be the end of everything: his career, his marriage, life as he knew it. But every time he thought he'd gathered enough willpower to put a stop to it, he'd just need to take one look at her smirking mouth, with its plump, crimson-painted lips, to remember how good they felt wrapped around his prick, smearing the base with lipstick and saliva. Then he'd remember how she looked, all pale skin flushed a rosy pink, spread out across the unmade bed she kept in the corner, or bent over the sink in her dingy little bathroom. He'd remember the warm grip of her tight cunt, the firmness of her ample breasts, the curve of her back as she pressed her face into the mattress and thrust her arse into the air.  
  
And as soon as he remembered these things, the battle was lost.  
  
Harry cupped her jaw and traced her bottom lip with his thumb, knowing there was no hope in fighting it anymore. She wasn't the only one with an addiction.  
  
“Quid pro quo?” he repeated.  
  
Pansy nodded and opened her mouth, allowing him to slide his thumb between her parted lips. She sucked on the tip, grazing it gently with her teeth, laving it with her tongue, all while watching him intensely.  
  
Her hands came up to fumble with the fastenings on his trousers. “You've earned it tonight, Potter,” she mumbled around his thumb. “Anything you want.”  
  
Harry barely recognized his own voice, it came out so low and rough. “Get up.”  
  
She took too long to stand; her slow, languorous movements inflamed his impatience. She let out a gasp of surprise when he grabbed her by the hips, and a laugh when he turned her around and shoved her over the arm of the sofa. His hands trailed up the back of her thighs, sliding up the thin silk of her dressing gown, exposing the dramatic roundness of her arse, bisected by a skimpy pair of lace knickers.  
  
Looking at him over her shoulder, her downcast eyes were a shockingly good imitation of demurity. “I guess you know what you want then.”  
  
What he wanted was to tell her to shut up. Instead, he smoothed his hands over her plump cheeks, feeling encouraged and empowered by the way her breath hitched and her legs inched further apart. He could feel the anticipatory tension in her muscles as he slid her knickers down her thighs. Gravity did the rest of the work, and they pooled at her feet. She kicked them away and spread her legs further, letting her head hang and her back arch so that the shining pink of her most intimate place was exposed to him.  
  
Harry stepped forward like a man possessed. Her thumbed her slit, his finger pushing between her puffy outer lips to seek the slick skin within, pausing only to circle her entrance before pushing inside. Fuck, she was already so wet. Only in to the knuckle, her hooked his thumb and stroked while his other hand smoothed down her back, delighting in the way her muscles trembled underneath his touch.  
  
She let out a groan and pushed back against his hand. “Don't tease.”  
  
This time he did tell her to shut up. She glared at him over her shoulder and circled her hips, but Harry didn't change his pace. With his free hand, he shoved down his pants and took himself in hand. He was already achingly hard, but couldn't resist the temptation of giving himself a few light strokes, wanting to commit the sight before him to memory.  
  
He felt her entire body tense when the tip of his cock made first contact with her skin. He traced the crack of her arse, pulling her cheeks apart so he could fit his length into the dry channel. He pushed them back together and rocked his hips, watching as the fleshy head appeared and disappeared between her cheeks. He wanted to fuck her, was going to fuck her, but maybe he'd pull out at the last moment and come like this, watch his come pool on the small of her back.  
  
So distracted by his fantasy, he didn't notice her huff of irritation until it was too late. She stood abruptly, reaching behind her to shove him away. Harry stumbled, feet caught in the trousers around his ankles, but she caught him by his shirt before he lost his balance. She tugged him around the edge of the sofa, and Harry had no choice but to follow as she shoved him onto it.  
  
“I told you not to tease.”  
  
If Harry had intended to protest this abrupt change in position, his complaint died on his lips as she untied the sash around her waist and let her dressing gown slip off her shoulders. Deftly, she unhooked her bra and peeled it off, her ample breasts bouncing as they were released. Harry felt his already aching cock swell at the sight of her, standing naked and imperious in front of him.  
  
Without another word she climbed onto his lap, batting his hands away. She took him in hand and raised herself above him, holding his gaze as she positioned his cock at her entrance. Harry's pounding heart went into overdrive as he felt the head of his cock press against the tight rim of her cunt. He wanted to buck up, to shove himself inside of her, but her tight-fisted grip on his shirt kept him in place.  
  
“Who's teasing now?” he asked, teeth grit, fighting the impulse to grab her by the hips and slam her down onto him.  
  
Leaning forward, she whispered, “I never tease.”  
  
She slid down slowly, taking his entire cock inside her in one long, smooth glide that made him gasp out loud and curse under his breath. He bit his lip to keep from crying out as she hooked one arm around his neck and leaned back. He grabbed her hips, holding her against him as she rolled her body, grinding herself against him in the filthiest imitation of a lap dance he'd even seen.  
  
It felt good, and it looked better than good, but it wasn't what Harry needed. He'd been half hard since they'd brought her in for questioning that evening, and this slow grind was bound to drive him mad. He need to fuck her, to feel himself driving into of her, buried deep and losing it within the grasping walls of her tight cunt. He pulled her towards him, burying his face in the deep line of her cleavage, trying to muffle his piteous moans and whimpers in her skin.  
  
Above him, he heard her laugh. “All right, love,” she said, her fingers curling around the nape of his neck. “I know what you need.”  
  
She abandoned her sinful writhing and sat up straight, taking hold of his shoulders as she slid up his length, until little more than the tip of his aching cock was still inside her. She paused there for a moment, waiting until he met her gaze, and then, smirking, lowered herself back down.  
  
After that, she lost interest her smooth, slow slide and began to ride him in earnest, spearing herself on his cock. Harry couldn't get a handle on his breathing, the air being forced from his chest in a tiny gasp each time her arse slapped against his thighs. He could feel himself completely surrounded, root to tip, in her hot, clutching wetness.  
  
Nothing could compare to this. Every other thought in his brain was crowded out by the feel and the sound, the scent and the taste of her.  
  
She was gasping for air too, the exertion of her efforts evident in a thin sheen of perspiration that made her entire body glisten, in the bead of sweat the rolled down her temple. Her skin was salty wherever Harry could find to kiss it, running his open mouth along the peaks and valleys of her upper body, tonguing the line of her collarbone and biting the curve of her neck. She moaned and arched her back, thrusting her chest into his face, never breaking the frenzied pace with which she fucked herself on his cock.  
  
Harry wrapped one arm around her waist for support and cupped one of her bouncing tits with the other hand, leaning forward so he could suck her nipple into his mouth, teasing it with his teeth in turn. Pansy moaned and shifted, shoving her hand between their sweat-soaked bodies.  
  
“Don't you dare—” she panted, “—come first.”  
  
He didn't think he could help it if he did. His entire body was on fire, every nerve ending in his skin tingling with a burning pleasure. His toes were kinking, his balls beginning to tighten.  
  
“I can't—” he gasped. “Can't hold on.”  
  
She began to slow, but Harry couldn't have that. Not when he was so close, not when his blood was thrumming and his skin was singing and he was speeding towards orgasm with the unstoppable power of a freight train. He grabbed her by the hips, ignoring her outraged cry as he shoved her off of him and onto her back.  
  
Crawling onto the sofa, he hooked his hands around the back of her knees and pulled her towards him. Vaguely, he registered the fact that she had called him a bastard, but that barely mattered when her legs were in the air, spread open in invitation.  
  
He shoved into her, throwing his head back as he groaned with relief.  
  
Below him, he heard her gasping, felt her nails digging into her shoulder, but could register little more than that as his hips pistoned and his stomach swooped. He slammed into her, driven by the voice inside his head that demanded he move, that he fuck her harder and faster.  
  
Or maybe that wasn't a voice inside his head at all. Maybe she was speaking. Only she would be able to sound so demanding even while flat on her back.  
  
Harry opened his eyes, not realizing how tightly he'd had them clenched shut. It was her, he realized, head thrown back and eyes screwed shut, urging him on as her hand moved between her legs, rubbing her clit furiously with two fingers. Her eyes blinked open and found his, holding his gaze for a moment before she let out a shuddering breath and nodded.  
  
Harry surged forward, trapping her hand between their bodies. She was folded nearly in half, knees pinned by her ears by his weight, but her lips parted easily under his, sucking his tongue into her mouth in a close proximation of a kiss. His hands scrambled to find purchase on the sofa arm above her head, and when he found a firm grip, he held onto it and fucked into her with all his strength, the sound of their meeting flesh cracking like lightening above their gasping breaths.  
  
Pansy wrenched her mouth free, turning her head away from him with a cry. Harry latched onto her neck, sucking the straining tendon beneath her skin as he continue to pound his hips, to feel his cock driving into her, all obscene slurping sounds and slapping flesh as her slick, sopping cunt sucked him inside.  
  
He was close, so close. He could hear buzzing in his ears, feel his blood roaring through his veins.  
  
“Fuck,” she gasped, hooking her arm around his neck, holding him tight against her. He could feel her hand still working between their bodies, motion limited by his crushing weight, but—judging by the way she clenched and writhed beneath him—still enough. “Just like that, Potter. Yes.  _Yes_. Fuck me just like that.”  
  
He didn't think he could hold back any longer, not when she spoke to him that way, not when she was breathless and whimpering. But it didn't matter, because the hand behind his neck turned to a claw, her sharp fingernails digging into his back as she let out a cry and convulsed, her hips working against his as the muscles deep inside her spasmed, milking what was left of his willpower from him.  
  
Face buried in the curve of her neck, he reached blindly for her hips and slammed them against his own one last time, holding her in place as white burst behind his eyelids and the tingling sensation in his bollocks erupted, coursing through his body and knocking the wind out of him. He could feel his cock twitching inside of her, unloading load after load of spunk deep within her, until he felt like he'd been wrung dry.  
  
Too exhausted to remain hovering above her, he pulled his spent prick out and fell back, collapsing onto the opposite end of the sofa with an enormous groan. Though worn out and tired, he felt the intense, soul-deep peace that only came with a good fuck. His only two concerns in the entire world were catching his breath and wiping her wetness off his cock before it dried.  
  
He knew that in a few hours, he'd come crashing back to reality. Life's other concerns would return, multiplied. He had so much to lose if he was caught but he couldn't care about that just then. All he wanted to do was close his eyes and bask in this post-orgasmic glow; to eat some of the rank takeaway he knew she had in the fridge; to rebuild his strength and see if she'd let him fuck her again before it was time to leave.  
  
When he opened his eyes minutes later, his vision was slightly blurred. It took him a moment to find her, though she was sitting only a few feet away, draped over the opposite arm of the sofa, watching him with half-closed eyes.  
  
“No more silly talk of rehab then?” she asked, eyebrow quirked. “Because if you cut me off—” her foot slid towards him, up the length of his thigh to toe at his deflated prick, “—I'll cut you off. And I don't think you want that.”  
  
Harry closed his eyes, a tingle of anticipation creeping up his spine.  
  
“No,” he agreed. “I don't want that.”  
  
He heard rustling as she stood, and moments later felt the warmth of her breath against the shell of his ear. “Glad to hear it. Now you rest up, Potter. We've still got to do that thing over the back of the sofa like you wanted. You were going to try and stick it up my arse, weren't you, you filthy little pervert?”  
  
“I wasn't—” he began to protest. He stopped and cracked one eye open. “Wait. If I was... I mean, we could? Really?”  
  
Her eyes wandered towards the small pile of fairy dust in the middle of the coffee table. “Perhaps,” she said, a mysterious smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She bent over and scooped up a bit of the dust with the long nail of her pinkie finger.  
  
Moving carefully, she straddled his stomach, holding her pinkie just below his face. “Quid pro quo, Potter.”  
  
Harry looked from her, to the table, and back again, excitement and terror warring in his stomach. God, he was so screwed.  
  
Swallowing down the lump in his throat, he nodded.  
  
“Quid pro quo.”


End file.
